


Just Like Every Night

by 221BLocked



Category: Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 10:39:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221BLocked/pseuds/221BLocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John comes home exhausted after a long day at work. Domestic bliss and fluff ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Like Every Night

It was a snowy evening in London as John Watson trudged up the stairs to 221B. He set the shopping on the kitchen table with a soft thump and shrugged out of his winter coat. Discarding it over a nearby chair and turning around, the doctor flipped the kettle switch on. He pulled down a cup as he waited for the water to boil. His eyes slowly drooped shut as he listened to the soft humming of the kettle and the ticking of a clock in the main room. 

They flicked back open mere seconds later as a steady pair of arms wrapped around his waist and the hands clasped in front of his stomach. 

“Not tonight, please, love.” John pleaded softly. “I'm too tired.”

A shiver ran across the doctor's spine as a soft pair of lips brushed town his neck. John twisted out of the grasp.

“Sherlock, I'm sorry. I'm... I'm exhausted.”

A slight pout flickered across the detective's angled face but he soon pushed it away and nodded. He could read the exhaustion in John's face, in his entire being. The way his feet stayed on the ground as he walked, how his hands flitted from object to object until he remembered what he was reaching for.

“Of course.” He agreed, and wrapped his arms around his lethargic lover once again. “But i'm still going to hold you. Because I'm entirely capable, and because you look like you're about to topple over. Bad day?”

John turned into the embrace and pressed his forehead against Sherlock's shoulder.

“Just a really, really long one.” The doctor mumbled as he relaxed against him and shut his eyes again. “Don't let go, please. Holding me is perfectly alright.”

Sherlock stroked John's back between his shoulder blades. The kettle shut itself off and Sherlock shifted so that John was leaning mostly against his side. One-handed, he poured the water into the waiting cup and added a tea bag.

“Let's get you to bed, yeah? You can drink this in there.” He offered. At John's slightly sedate nod, he led the older man into their shared bedroom and sat him on the side of the mattress.

“Thanks.” John mumbled as he toed off his shoes and peeled his slightly damp and very cold clothes off. He stepped into a pair of pajama pants that Sherlock held out for him and then curled under the blankets.

“There you go.” Sherlock murmured as John shrunk in on himself. He unbuttoned his dress shirt and changed into a more comfortable set of clothing, before he climbed into the bed behind John. He wrapped him up in his arms and kissed his bare shoulder.

“If you don't let me sit up, my tea will go cold.” John complained. “And you just made it...”

Sherlock shushed him. “It doesn't matter. Sleep now, and I'll make you more in the morning. When you can think straight, alright? Just relax for now.” He soothed John as the older man went slightly limp against him.

The doctor leaned against Sherlock, seeking his warmth and pressing farther into his comforting embrace. He let his breathing become shallow over the next few minutes, and let his body relax until it was slightly numb and his limbs felt heavy.

He kept his mind alert, waiting for the words that came every night when Sherlock thought he was asleep. The four words that the younger, taller, more fragile man was too afraid to say in the daylight, when anyone was listening, including the man the words were spoken to.

Sherlock listened as John's breathing evened out and just like every night, he thought about the magnificent man in his arms. The man who had managed to wiggle his way into a sociopath's life, to fix his mendable flaws and to appreciate the inevitable ones. The man who never felt the need to utter the word 'freak,' in his presence, and would willingly have a row with anyone who dared. The doctor, companion, friend. Lover. His doctor, companion friend. His lover.

Just like every night, Sherlock pressed his lips to the top of John's head, before he whispered the words.

 

“I love you, John.”

 

And just like every night, John smiled to himself and fell asleep against his Sherlock.


End file.
